Number Six
by Fish
Summary: Beneath those dragon's scales beats a wounded heart...


Pokemon belongs to Nintendo, 4Kids Entertainment, Warner Brothers, and Satoshi Tajiri. I am not   
profiting from the production of this fic. Feedback to fish_stomp@yahoo.com. Ben Weasel says "scree!"  
  
  
(No Pokemon were harmed in the making of this fic. At least not ones I like.)  
  
  
What can I say, I hate the kid.  
  
Back when I was a little unevolved runt, I didn't realize it. I was as clueless as all his other Pokemon. I   
was a fool. Now I've evolved, twice. I see things as they are, from way up here.  
  
All I ever was to the kid was a testament to his greatness. I was a scaly little cute thing to get him in with   
the red-haired chick. I was proof of his responsibility to the older kid, who he obviously looked up to a lot.   
I was another entry in his Pokedex, another step towards a badge. At least my previous trainer hadn't made   
any pretenses. I was an object to him; he knew it and I knew it.  
  
But with Ash, it's different. He thinks he's a hot shot. He thinks he's a god. He thinks that he can treat his   
Pokemon like nothings and that we'll give ourselves over for him to destroy.  
  
Most of all, he thinks we love him to death. And when I was just a Charmander, I did. All I could see is   
that I had been abused before and this kid would save me from the pain and mistreatment. Yet I was   
subjected to the worst kind of torture available—an entire life built around something so shallow and   
unreal, I don't know why I didn't recognize it earlier. I blame it on my youth.  
  
He doesn't care about me. I realized that when I evolved into Charmeleon. After I stopped glowing and   
shifting shapes, I looked out through newer, more mature eyes. I glanced over at my beloved trainer,   
excited for myself and my future. I had evolved, something that only happened a couple times in one's   
lifetime. What I saw in his eyes frightened me.  
  
I know, I know, I'm the big dragon. Nothing scares me, right? I'm the toughest and most ferocious of the   
Pokemon. I am indestructible.   
  
Still, the look in Ash Ketchum's eyes scared me to death.  
  
I saw greed. Pure, undeniable greed. And sure enough, right away he whipped out his little Pokedex to   
catalogue me, file me nice and snug between his Bulbasaur and Squirtle. And like that, bing, I was another   
little personal victory to him. I was proof of his godliness, his perfection. I was another number. A new,   
better number.   
  
When I saw this, when I saw his greed and the meaninglessness of my existence, when I realized the truth, I   
was heartbroken. It killed me, it really did. It's why I stopped listening in the first place—I was so stunned   
that I couldn't bring myself to battle.   
  
And when I saw how much the humiliation got to him… I'm not proud of it, but it made me feel good. I   
was showing the little creep. I knew what he was doing, whether it was conscious or not, and he wasn't   
going to get away with it.  
  
Of course, he didn't understand. He threw little tantrums about it, he yelled, he cried, he whimpered that I   
wouldn't listen to him. He made me feel guilty.  
  
And then I evolved again. Because of him.  
  
I wasn't ready to evolve. I had only been a Charmeleon for a few months. I was still a baby, you know?   
But he was in trouble. Real trouble, this time. Like, life-or-death trouble. I couldn't let him die and have it   
on my conscience for the rest of my life. I mean, dragons live for centuries.  
  
And to tell you the truth, I was hoping he would change.  
  
It wasn't the same with his Pikachu. No, he was crazy about the little rat. He worshipped the thing, and for   
good reason. That Pikachu gave him way more than he deserved. He was an idiot, and the 'Chu was   
gifted. That little Pokemon coulda trained itself and turned out just as talented—better, even. But, instead,   
he gave it all to Ash. And Ash loved him for it.  
  
I had tried that. When I was a Charmander, I would have fought for him to the death. I thought he loved   
me like he loved his 'Chu. He didn't.  
  
Hell, he hadn't even made the little thing evolve. He had the stone and everything, right there, and he let   
the Pikachu choose.  
  
And when it said no, he just smiled and hugged it.  
  
It made me sick.  
  
But still, I evolved for him. To save his life from a deranged, cranky Aerodactyl. And after I evolved, I   
looked to him with incredible hope. Maybe he would love me now. Maybe I would be good enough now.  
  
I looked at myself. A beautifully carved specimen of gold and red, I spread my wings over my head and let   
loose a roar of sheer elation. I was beautiful. I was gorgeous. I was the most powerful Pokemon ever, I   
was the Fire Dragon, I was the idol of ancient cultures. I was Charizard. He had to love me.  
  
No such luck. Again, out came Dexter to fit me in the slot under Charmeleon, before Squirtle. He danced   
around, shouting about the wonderful trainer he was. After all, he evolved a Charmeleon to a Charizard!   
  
All I was to him was Pokemon number six. Nothing had changed.  
  
I battled with depression, alone in my little Pokeball. Some days when he let me out, I would fight for him,   
hoping again that he would love me. Some days I didn't even bother.   
  
I fought a Magmar for him, and won. And after the battle, Ash stared, transfixed, at the new, shiny rock, as   
I tended my numerous wounds.   
  
He didn't notice me. I almost went over to him. I almost swept him up and embraced him, begging for his   
forgiveness, forgiveness for my insolence, for my betrayal. But then the Pikachu leapt on his shoulder,   
squealing its delight and pride for him, and I saw him swell up. The look came back.  
  
Yes, he had done well. He had fought that Charizard into submission. He was the ultimate trainer.  
  
I know it was my fault he didn't win at the Pokemon League Games. I know I ruined that opportunity for   
him. In truth, after the competition I really hoped he would drag me out back and put a bullet into my   
throbbing heart. But he didn't. He sulked and moped. His precious Pikachu cheered him up.  
  
I turned away.   
  
So now I sit in my cramped little spherical world, in the dark, hoping for the day that he realizes the truth. I   
sit here, longing for his affection and companionship. I fester and mold in my private little hell.  
  
All waiting, waiting for the day he sees me as a complete being, an entity, for the enigma that is Life and   
the power that surges through me with every beat of my dragon heart. I wait for the time he sees me as   
something special, like his Pikachu. I wait for the day when I am more than I number in his Pokedex. I   
don't know if that day will ever come. But I can hope.  
  
After all, dragons live for centuries, you know?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
